Page 86 of Skin and Bones

Something hardened in Harrington’s eyes. “Brooks and I have a complicated history, but we’re both prominent men in this city. We run into each other from time to time. And we’re friendly enough. That’s it. But a guy like Brooks isn’t one to get his hands dirty. It’s why he left the DA’s office. There was too much work involved with people he didn’t want to be associated with. He always had a taste for the finer things.”

“Thanks for the time,” Dash said, handing Clint a card. “If you could send over that information so we can confirm your trip to Savannah I’d appreciate it.”

As we headed back to the car, I glanced at Dash. “Do you believe him?”

“About the watch, yes,” Dash said. “About not knowing who might use his name? Not for a second. He definitely had some ideas. That’s a man who should never play poker.”

“What now?” I asked as we climbed back into the SUV.

“Now we go back to your place and tell the Silver Sleuths what we found out,” he said, starting the engine. “And we figure out how to set our trap.”

We drove back to Grimm Island in thoughtful silence. The island looked different somehow as we crossed the causeway—still picturesque, still charming, but now I could see the shadows lurking behind the quaint façades, the secrets buried beneath the Spanish moss.

The Silver Sleuths were waiting eagerly when we arrived, Chowder waddling over to greet us with unusual enthusiasm. His cold, wet nose pressed against my bare leg, making me yelp in surprise.

“Traitor,” I told him, scratching behind his ears. “Now you’re happy to see me.”

“What did you find out?” Dottie demanded, practically vibrating with impatience. “Did the jewelry man crack?”

“Like an egg,” I confirmed, stepping fully into the living room. “But before we get into it?—”

“Wait,” Walt interrupted, raising his hand. His eyes narrowed as he peered through the front window. “You said a dark sedan had been following you. One has been parked down the street for almost an hour.”

There was no fear at this revelation. Instead a burning rage came from out of nowhere. “Oh, really?” I asked. “Let’s go see who it is.”

I walked past gaping Silver Sleuths and Dash and slammed open my front door. The old me would’ve winced. I wasn’t a door slammer. And then I marched down the front walk and down the middle of the street.

The black sedan was parked half a block away, partially obscured by a live oak draped in Spanish moss that swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. As I approached, I could see a figure hunched behind the wheel, watching my house through the windshield.

The driver looked startled when I rapped sharply on the window, his weathered face going slack with shock. For a moment, I thought he might speed away, but then he slowly rolled down the window, the electric motor whining in protest.

“Why are you following me?” I demanded, hands on my hips.

The man behind the wheel was older than I expected, probably in his late sixties, with the leathery skin and sun-spotted hands of someone who’d spent decades outdoors. His white hair was sparse and wispy, like dandelion fluff, and deep grooves lined his face, telling a story of hard years and harder decisions. He blinked up at me in surprise, then cleared his throat nervously.

“You’re Mabel McCoy?” he asked, his voice gravelly with age or cigarettes or both.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “And you are?”

“Frank Donovan,” he said, offering a calloused hand through the window. “I used to work security at the marina. Back in ’96.”

The marina. Where Elizabeth had been found. My interest immediately sharpened, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention.

“That doesn’t explain why you’ve been following me,” I said.

Frank sighed, looking suddenly exhausted. The scent of peppermints and Old Spice wafted from the car.

“I saw on the news about that deputy getting arrested. Reynolds.” Frank’s gaze flickered past me to where Dash now stood a few feet away, watching carefully. “Heard rumors around town that the Elizabeth Calvert case was being reopened.” He paused, his weathered hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I was there that night. The night she died. I saw something.”

My pulse quickened, sending a rush of blood to my head that made me momentarily dizzy. “Why didn’t you come forward before?”

“I tried,” Frank said, his expression hardening like cement setting. “Went to Sheriff Milton the very next day. He told me to keep my mouth shut if I wanted to keep my job.” His hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel. “I had young kids back then. Couldn’t afford to lose that paycheck.”

I exchanged a look with Dash, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Would you like to come inside, Mr. Donovan?” I asked. “You look like you could use some tea.”

Frank hesitated, then nodded. “Been trying to work up the nerve to come talk to you for days,” he admitted. “Figured following you was the easiest way to get a chance to do it without being seen.”

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